Don't Drive Your Car in Chicago
by Cati-dono
Summary: -Details inside- Harry's on the hunt for a practitioner who may have broken the Second Law of Magic. Dean and Sam just want their damn car back. So, naturally, the three meet up in the Windy City to help bring down a bad guy that outclasses them all. Slightly Ianpala, mostly just for fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** So here's the gripping tale of where I came up with this (skip on to the next paragraph if you don't give a wad of flaming demon monkey crap): I was sitting there, "working" at my table at the Democratic primaries for US Senate, and I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I'd finished my book, gotten sick of logic puzzles, and run out of steam in my other fics in only two hours. The time was 7:00 am, I'd been there since 5:00 am and I was going to be there until 8:00 pm. In that time frame exactly zero people had come to vote. (Over the next 11 hours, 18 people total came to vote.) Things were looking majorly sucky, but then I realized that I had been itching to write my own Spn/Dresden crossover ever since I read E-MouseGirl's "Allies" and "Looking for the Devil". Which BTW are fantastic and should be read. But anyway I started writing this, and since then it has evolved like some strange sort of plant. Maybe I'll name it Audrey 2 or something. Props if you understand a word I just said.

IMPORTANT STUFF HERE- So this is set after the start of Season 4 of Supernatural and sometime before the start of Blood Rites in the Dresden-verse. Except I'm going to completely ignore that Harry picked up Lasciel's coin because it adds an impossible amount of complexity to my relatively simple plotline. Also, I'm trying to emulate Jim Butcher's snarky first-person Harry. Let me know how I do, yeah?

So enjoy, and if anything seems horribly out of place, it's probably cause I've never been to Chicago and haven't read all the way through the Dresden Files series in a while, so my magical jargon is a bit rusty. Sorry about the overly long author's note, but I think I covered everything.

* * *

I am a firm believer in Karma. What goes around comes around, and as my friend Michael once told me, "Sometimes you're what's coming around." Of course, he said that in a feeble attempt to comfort me after I burned down a building around at least fifteen innocent kids, maybe more. Sure there were a couple dozen vampires of the Red and Black courts in there too, but their faces aren't the ones that keep me up at night.

Anyway, that's not my point. My point is that, every now and again, the Powers that Be decide that I've saved my own ass, and coincidentally the world, enough times to have one day where everything doesn't totally suck. Usually, such days are identified by a few simple traits, similar to those I encountered this morning.

One: I woke up this morning, after chasing two ghouls and a hostage half-way across Chicago in November, feeling only as bad as a "coma" warmed over, rather than my usual "death". Two: I got up, got dressed, and went to the grocery store for some food without anything trying to disintegrate, immolate, desiccate, exsanguinate, or otherwise -ate me. Three: The Chicago PD had ponied up the cash on time for the last case I'd helped with, and it meant that my bills would actually be paid this month. All in all, I was feeling pretty good by lunchtime. So, naturally, that was when an explosion of magic from somewhere downtown knocked me on my ass.

I don't just mean the metaphor either; I mean that it literally sent tremors of energy through the floor of my apartment that made me drop my plate of cold cuts and sit down, hard. Mister came sailing out of nowhere and made the entire plate of food vanish before my eyes, then tossed me a glare and sauntered away as if to say "If my nap is going to be ruined by magic you aren't responsible for, then so is your lunch".

As I picked myself and my Tupperware (I had long ago abandoned the idea of anything that might break) off the floor, I could hear Bob swearing a blue streak through the floorboards. To clear up any lingering confusion, Bob is a spirit of intellect that lives in a human skull that I keep in my underground magical laboratory. Who says wizards aren't clichéd anymore? I reinforced yet another stereotype as I grabbed my heavy robe and descended to my sub-zero basement. Both of the candles on Bob's shelf had gone out, so I reignited them with a wave of my hand and a muttered "flickum bicus"

"Bob?" I called warily as a stream of curses, mostly in English but also in what may have been Gaelic and/or Ancient Egyptian, continued to pour from the skull. "You okay?"

"No Harry I am not okay," Bob snapped, orange eye-lights blazing in irritation. "Something big just transmuted on South Street and it surprised me into knocking my book off the shelf!" As I bent to get it for him, he yelped, "no no wait, it's okay Harry, I'll get it!"

I paused with one hand on the spine of the book, shooting Bob a suspicious look over my shoulder. "You are never that polite. And you're a skull on a shelf, you can't get it yourself." I turned the book over in my hands as I stood and frowned at the unfortunately all too familiar cover. I had been meaning to ask what Bob meant by transmutation, but now a far more important question came to mind. "Bob, where the hell did you get a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey?"

If a skull could blush, Bob would have been bright red. "I'm feeling very judged right now Harry."

"That's good Bob, because I'm judging you. Come on man, it's not even well-written sex! This is a new personal low for you." I turned away, book in hand. "On the bright side, I was running out of kindling for the upstairs fireplace." Over on his shelf, Bob was starting to panic.

"Aww come on Harry, don't be like that! I haven't even gotten to the elevator scene yet!"

"Tell me who gave it to you, and explain what you said about transmutation, and _maybe_ I won't burn it." I had no intentions of letting another hour pass with filth like that under my roof, but Bob didn't know that.

Sure enough, he responded instantly. "It was Thomas, he got it for me as a laugh, I swear!" I gripped the cover firmly between my fingers and began to slowly tear it off of the book, and Bob hurried on, "and the thing that just floored you, and probably every other magically gifted goon within the city limits, was some sort of transmutation spell. And I mean a really big one, animal to mineral or vice versa."

I twitched so hard that I almost tore the damn book in half. "Hells bells! You mean someone broke the Second Law?" The Second Law of Magic set down by the White Council forbids transforming people into anything else, which is why I will never turn anyone into a newt no matter how much they piss me off. Not only is such magic incredibly complex and almost certain to go horribly wrong, but even if the physical change works the psychic never will.

There is no way to fit a human mind into anything else's head, and people who are trapped as animals invariably experience a gradual collapse of Self. The less sentient the target animal, the quicker the decline. I heard of a man who survived as a dolphin for almost three weeks before they found him beached in South Carolina. I also heard of a wizard who turned someone into a toad by accident and only managed to undo the spell two days later. Apparently the victim spent the rest of her life trying to catch flies with her tongue, until the day she leapt in front of a train in pursuit of a juicy moth.

"Yep, right in the middle of Chicago," Bob confirmed, although his eyes were still trained on the slightly mangled romance novel in my hand. "Don't get involved, Harry. Someone will tell a Warden, and if it is a breach of the Laws they'll take care of it. This isn't your fight."

Part of me knew Bob was right, and was urging me to get on with things like throttling Thomas and burning the crappy BDSM book already. Another part of me however, the chivalrous one that usually held doors for women and got mad when kids were crying, wanted to investigate myself and make sure that it wasn't all a huge misunderstanding. I have a soft spot for people who've had misunderstandings with the council. I sighed in defeat. The death of Fifty Shades would have to wait for another day.

"Alright Bob, tell me everything you know or suspect about this. What could it be?" As I sadly put the paperback back on Bob's shelf, he began to brief me, his tone entirely too peppy.

"Well boss, it could be a couple of things. A shapeshifter of some sort, maybe." As he spoke, I was getting my wizardly essentials together. Blasting Rod: check. Shield bracelet: check. My mother's silver pentacle: check. Enchanted leather duster: check. I debated about taking my staff, then decided against it. While useful in most situations, it was large and hard to sneak with, and I was worried that I might have to do some sneaking.

"Come on Bob, what sort of shapeshifter lets off that much energy in one go when it turns?" I asked, voice slightly muffled as I dug around in my Chest of Wizardly Items.

I discarded a rubber chicken, a small coil of razor wire in a thick plastic sleeve, six and a half white candles, and a Chinese finger trap before I found the box I was looking for. Inside said box were six .358 bullets made of pure silver. After the Loup-Garrou, I asked Murphy if she had any spare silver lying around that had been passed down in her family, stuff she wouldn't mind making into weapons. I suspect that she gleefully pillaged her mother's good sterling silverware for the materials, and have since decided never to eat dinner at the Murphy home, lest my indirect guilt give me indigestion.

"Well, it would be like the Loup-Garrou," Bob hedged. "Except, you know, not dependant on the lunar cycle. And bigger."

I sat back on my heels to look at the skull. "Bigger how, Bob?"

"Bigger like Quetzalcoatl, for example."

"The ancient Aztec God?" I blinked in confusion. "Gods can be shapeshifters?"

Bob gave a long-suffering sigh. "More like shapeshifters can be gods, Harry. Don't you know your mythology? He was a god who walked the earth in the form of a human, but also had another body, that of the great feathered serpent. A shapeshifter, but way out of your league."

"So silver bullets wouldn't even work on something like that huh?" I asked glumly. Why couldn't it ever be easy?

"Probably not. Might piss it off enough that it kills you quick though, that's something." Bob injected artificial cheeriness into his voice. "But hey, if you're lucky it's just a confused kid who accidentally turned a hooker into a cat or something." He snickered. "Get it? Get it Harry?"

I jammed the probably useless but oddly comforting silver bullets into a pocket of the duster, along with the revolver, and turned to leave, ignoring the little pervert.

"You'd better read fast Bob," I called over my shoulder as I ascended the ladder. "When I'm done with this I'm going to burn that book and bleach your skull."

"You know Harry, I was gonna wish you luck, but I've changed my mind. I hope that this is a really long and painful case for you," Bob yelled back as the trapdoor closed above him.

Stupid skull always had to have the last word.

* * *

LOL sorry if you like 50SoG, I think it's gross and badly written so I make fun of it a lot (is there even an elevator scene?). Please don't take offense. That plea also extends to my tenuous memory of Aztec gods, -cough- Quetzalcoatl. And I know there were no Winchesters in this chapter, but they're coming! I just had to practice my Harry-esque narrating style. Review pretty please?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** This chapter will have the Winchesters as promised! It's also gonna be mostly for fun, not a ton of plot involved, because it's actually entirely just them meeting. I get this mental image of a bunch of wild dogs meeting each other for the first time and sniffing each other's butts. And so with that mental image, I leave you to enjoy this chapter! (PS is there even a South Street in Chicago? No idea, but there is now!) Also this was a lot better in the rough draft but then I had to change something and it went to crap, so sorry about that. ((PPS I forgot how tall Harry is and didn't have the energy to look it up, sorry!))

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Let me tell you, driving through Chicago at lunchtime is a loud, smelly nightmare. Doing so while holding a silver pentacle with a tracking spell on it out the window is worse. I couldn't bring the amulet into the car because the amount of magical energy focused in it right now was enough to make even the trusty Blue Beetle break down. Holding the necklace outside the car as I drove subjected my spell to the risk of wind, crazy drivers, and angry pedestrians, but the residual energy that I was tracking was so strong that it didn't matter.

In about a half-hour, I reached my destination, the parking lot of a cheap motel. The really sleazy kind that was usually reserved for shady drug deals and one-night stands. Frowning, I pulled into a space, let the Beetle stutter into silence, and checked my spell again. The necklace was nearly parallel to the ground as the tracking spell pulled it towards room 113. Somehow I didn't think that anything on the caliber of a god would be spending much time here, which reinforced the theory that it was a wizard or warlock who had broken the Second Law. Whether the hex had been done on purpose or just accidentally in the heat of the moment, my options were limited.

To my surprise, I was the first member of the magical community on the scene, which probably just meant that the rest of Chicago had better sense. Instead of going straight to the room, I walked down the street a little bit until I found a pay phone, and dialed Murphy's number.

"Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, Chicago PD, SI unit." Murphy's crisp tone held a tinge of irritation that you wouldn't notice unless you knew her really well, and I guessed that I had interrupted her lunch.

"Hey Murph, it's Harry." As I spoke, static crackled along the line, making me wince. Wizards and technology really don't get along so hot, which is why I haven't even bothered to investigate getting a cell phone. Landlines are bad, but cell phones are twenty times worse.

"Harry, I swear if you're calling for anything that will keep me from eating my sandwich one minute longer, I will murder you."

I laughed. "Never fear Murphy, you may continue to consume your lunch unmolested."

Murphy made a disgusted sound into the phone. "Now that you've just associated the word molested with my food, I'm not sure I want to. What's up? Wait," she added warily. "Is this something on your side of the street or mine?" By which of course she meant, "Am I going to end up having to stop an apocalyptic plague with you again, or is this relatively normal?"

"My side, but I'm not asking for help," I assured her. I really wasn't, yet. "I'm at a motel on South Street," I gave her the address, "and while there shouldn't be a problem, if things go south you may have to stall the boys in blue for a while. Just so they don't end up charging into the middle of a supernatural firefight. Can you do that for me?"

A long silence, broken only by the ever-present crackle of the phone, greeted my request. I swallowed nervously. Murphy is good people. The best people, really, but she takes her job seriously. She knows that there are things her police badge doesn't impress, and that there's only so much mortal authorities can do when something like a scourge of vampires shows up, but she doesn't have to like it. In this case I was basically asking her to intercept and ignore any odd 911 calls from this area, and every fiber of her law enforcement being was dead set against the idea.

"Please Murph, trust me?"

"Harry," Murphy started, then sighed."Yeah, but if anything big comes through you'll only have like ten minutes tops before the cops show up. I can't get them to totally ignore a call."

"Thanks Murphy." I said gratefully. Then, because I couldn't resist, "and you are the smartest, classiest, sexiest cop on the force, you know that?"

"Dresden you chauvinistic pig, get off my phone line and let me eat my lunch in peace. And try not to burn down any public buildings this time?" The dryness in her voice was apparent even over the crappy phone connection, and I grimaced.

"That hurts Murph. That really hurts!" I heard her snort as I hung up the phone. I would have been righteously angry that she didn't trust me, but my M.O. seems to be the destruction of public property in a very heated, flammable fashion. Still, I hadn't had an incident like that in weeks. As I crossed back to the motel, I wondered if I should get one of those signs they hang in warehouses. "It has been [26] days since the last workplace fire!"

Shaking my head in an effort to get my mind back on track, I approached the door to 113 silently. The surrounding area was entirely deserted, which meant that I didn't have to worry about just how sketchy I looked, a tall man in the dark coat lurking outside a motel. After testing the door for any signs of magic and finding none, I leaned my ear against it and Listened. Real Listening takes a lot of effort and training to master, but once you do the skill is invaluable. I could hear everything happening inside as clearly as if I was standing in the room. At the moment, the room's occupants seemed to be having an argument.

"Don't be ridiculous Dean, you've called me Baby your whole life, why stop now?" The man who spoke sounded like the kind of sly, snarky wiseass that had no respect for authority and a habit of getting into trouble. I decided I liked him already.

"That was different," another man protested defensively. This one sounded a few years older than the first, with a rough voice that sounded as if it had done too much screaming too many times. Okay, that was a bit dramatic. Sue me. "That was before I knew you were a… dude."

At this point I was glad that I hadn't kicked down the door, because so far this was sounding more like a case of mistaken identity (cue "Lola" by the Kinks) than something I had any business sticking my nose into. Then a third person spoke, and my ears pricked up.

"Both of you shut up, we have bigger problems." This man sounded younger than the other two, but his voice had that long-suffering tone that a person only gets when they're constantly having to pound common sense into an impulsive hothead's brain. It was a tone that Michael and Murphy often used around me, in fact.

"No shit, Sherlock!" The second man snapped. "Problem number one is why the hell my car is a _dude_. Baby is supposed to be a really sexy chick!" Oh. So maybe this was the room I was looking for.

"Hey, I'm sexy!" The first voice, who I could only assume was the former car, Baby, protested. "You always whisper that I'm sexy when you're washing me. You know, when you take that oily cloth and rub it across my hood…" Baby trailed off seductively.

Sherlock, as I had dubbed him until I figured out his real name, made a disgusted noise that I heartily agreed with. "Oh, god, please stop. Look, um, Baby, can you not hit on my brother for like five minutes so we can figure this out?" Okay, Sherlock was Dean's brother, and Dean was the guy who owned the car that was now a person. Right. "Dean, did you try calling Cas?" Sherlock continued.

"Of course I did Sam, I'm not an idiot. He didn't answer." If possible, Dean now sounded even more pissed off than before, and I guessed that this Cas person didn't usually leave him hanging. Not that I minded- two people and a car were plenty for me. Now that I had a name for all of the people in the room, I figured it was as good a time to introduce myself as any.

Stepping away from the door, I paused to consider my options. These people didn't seem to be the ones who had used the magic, but they were certainly the targets. Someone had a grudge against them, a pretty serious one if the blatant disregard for the laws of magic was anything to go by. Having been the target of grudges a few times myself, I knew that whoever had cursed their car would most likely be back, so if I stuck with these guys they would eventually lead me to whoever was really behind the spell. The remarkable calmness with which they discussed the transformed automobile in their motel room suggested that the brothers had some experience with the supernatural, although I couldn't tell from here whether they were practitioners or not. Either way, my best bet was the friendly approach, and to try and talk it out first. There would be time for face-melting later if it came to that.

Shield bracelet lifted protectively in front of me, I tapped on the door with the blasting rod that I held ready in my other hand. Being friendly and being stupid don't always have to be the same thing. There was a long moment of silence, and then the door opened a crack. A pair of suspicious green eyes under a patch of spiky light brown hair glared out at me. The guy would have been tall next to anyone but me, but I still had a good four inches on him.

"What do you want?" He growled. It wasn't the most threatening greeting I'd ever gotten, but it sure as hell wasn't very nice. I meant to be professional, honestly I did, but my smartass mouth missed the memo.

"I hear you've been having some car trouble," I responded brightly. "Mind if I come in and take a look?"

All of the color drained from the man's face. The only warning I got was a slight tensing of his shoulders before he threw open the door and slammed me in the ribs with a crowbar. The spells on my leather duster softened the blow a little but it still hurt like a bitch, and I was pretty sure he'd cracked a rib. I folded over with a groan and felt someone grab my shoulders and physically haul me into the room, slamming the door behind me.

As I fell onto the smelly carpet, I managed to roll over and throw up my shield bracelet. Time seemed to slow down as I took in the room around me. First and most alarming was the very tall man who was standing over me, wielding a wicked-looking knife like he knew what he was doing. The semi-transparent curve of my shield materialized just in time to deflect a slash from his blade, and he stumbled in surprise as the blow glanced to one side. Next to him was the third man, smaller and slimmer than the other two, dressed in black leather from head to toe and clutching a handgun like he was willing to use it but not quite sure how.

Recovering slightly from the blow to my ribs, I gasped out "_fozare!_" and gestured with my blasting rod. Tall-and-muscled flew sideways into leather-boy and both of them sprawled onto the floor. Meanwhile, spiky-hair was coming back for another swing. Channeling my power through my blasting rod, I cried out in Latin again and tossed him across the room to join the other two. Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed the tallest man by the wrist as he came back for another charge and swept his legs out from under him, twisting his arm until he was forced to let go of the knife. At the same time, I dropped and pinned him to the floor with a firm knee in the back. And Murphy says I never learn anything from her Aikido classes. He struggled, but I'm no slouch in the muscles department myself, and I managed to keep him under control.

"Woah!" I yelled as loudly as I could, leveling my blasting rod at the two against the wall. "Hang on a second, there's been a misunderstanding here!" Underneath me, the man went still, and his companions across the room were watching my blasting rod warily. I pushed a little harder with my will and made the runes on it glow for added effect. "Okay, that was a stupid way to introduce myself, I'll admit that, but I really just came to help. And were you planning on killing me, or just beating me half to death?" I added drily, glancing down at the knife on the carpet beside me. "Because I have to say, even if I was the one who hexed your car, _which I'm not_," I emphasized, "killing me probably wouldn't break the spell."

"How did you know something happened to my car?" Spiky-hair asked. Okay, so he must be Dean, owner of the cursed vehicle. "And what the hell did you just do?" As he spoke, the one in black sidled around so that he was in front of Dean, half shielding him with his body. Cute. I was betting that was the car, which made the giant I was currently grinding into the carpet Sam.

"Alright look, I'm going to let him up," I jerked my chin at Sam, "so we can have this conversation like civilized people. Just please don't try to shoot me again, I won't be responsible for what follows." All I meant was that the bullet might ricochet and hurt one of them, but it wasn't my fault if they interpreted that as a direct threat. Dean hesitated for a moment and then lowered the crowbar slowly, still alert for any tricks. For my part, I pushed myself to my feet and backed quickly away from the one on the ground in case he lunged at me. All he did was pull himself to his feet and rush over to his brother, which gave them a few points in my book. It was refreshing that someone was willing to play nice for a change.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean asked in an undertone. When Sam nodded, he turned back to face me. "You still didn't answer me, what did you do to my car?"

"I told you, I wasn't the one who put a spell on the car," I explained with exaggerated patience. "I'm just here investigating a surge of magical energy I sensed around here. The name's Dresden, Harry Dresden, and you can look me up in the phonebook. I'm a professional wizard."

Dean snorted, and Sam gave me an incredulous stare. I sighed. These people had presumably seen a car turn into a person before their very eyes, and they were laughing at the thought of me being a wizard. Typical. With a small effort of will, I sent a column of air at the knife on the floor and scooped it up, flicking it towards Sam. He caught it with a gasp, glancing between me and it in confusion.

"You forgot that," I told him with my least threatening smile. "Now do you believe me? I'm not here for a fight."

"Yeah, we've heard that one before," Dean snarled. "Christo!" There was a moment where we all waited for something horrific to happen, which passed fruitlessly.

"Okay so we know he's not a demon," Sam whispered in Dean's ear. The way I hadn't burst into flames or anything at the name of Christ seemed to reassure him a little, but Dean still glared at me.

I raised my eyebrows. "Are we having a Latin fight?" I asked curiously. "Because offhand I'd say I'd win. Seriously though, that's your first response, that I'm some sort of demonic creature?"

"You come in here and call yourself a wizard, but you don't believe in demons? Gimme a break. What are you?" Dean still sounded like he wanted to shoot me, and I wondered if I had caught him at a bad time or if he was just generally this angry.

"No really, I'm just plain old vanilla human," I reassured them. "And I never said I didn't believe in demons." The image of a tarnished silver coin in a white handkerchief flashed through my mind, and I shivered involuntarily. If I never saw another Denarian again it would be too soon.

All three men were still watching me warily, and I sighed. If I knew Murphy, she would be over soon with or without a 911 call, and I'd rather we had all the mistrust out of the way before the cop burst through the door.

"Look, can we move this along before someone who's actually trying to eradicate us all gets here? I feel kind of bad for tossing you into a wall, so if there are any more tests you want to run to confirm that I am, in fact, human and not trying to kill you, feel free to run them now."

"You being human doesn't necessarily mean you're not trying to kill us," Sam pointed out, pulling a flask out of his pocket. "Holy water," he explained, and I nodded and let him toss some at my face. Again, my general lack of reaction seemed to comfort the men. I wondered how many times they had done this before.

"An excellent point," I conceded. Despite my complimentary cracked rib, I was beginning to like these guys. It's easy to recognize a man who's been through hard times just trying to do the right thing, and those two (plus the car) had that familiar look about them. God knows I can relate to that.

My thoughts were diverted when Dean pulled out a small silver knife, taking a step towards me. "What are you doing with that?" I asked cautiously.

Dean frowned. "Standard shapeshifter test, silver knife. I give you a nick and if you don't burn up, you're clean." He reached for my arm but I backed further away, bringing my shield arm up defensively again.

"No can do Dean," I said flatly. "You don't get any of my blood, I'm a wizard not an idiot. You'll have to figure something else out." Blood is one of the most powerful ingredients you can use in a spell. I use it for relatively harmless things, like tracking spells or scrying, but there are a lot less savory applications for something that potent. Things like voodoo dolls, curses, and mind control, to name a few. Saying that I'm too powerful to let my blood fall into the wrong hands isn't narcissism- it's fact.

Of course, what with the rest of the people in the room having no concept of wizardly cautions, all the brothers got out of the exchange was that I refused to let them touch me with silver. The tension in the room ratcheted up about twenty notches, and the car started growling at me. Honest to god growling, like a huge engine about to run me down. I frantically cast my brain around for an alternative as Dean pulled _another_ damn gun from his pocket and Sam closed in with the knife. Suddenly I remembered my mother's amulet.

"Wait!" I yelped. Against my better judgment I put down the blasting rod, using my now free hand to life the slightly worn and beaten thong of the necklace over my head. I rested the slender silver pentacle in my palm and held it out towards Dean. "Look, it was my mother's. Genuine silver, and I'm not writhing at the touch or anything."

Dean paused in his approach and lowered the gun. "Toss it over," he ordered, and I did so obligingly. Sam was still clutching the knife like it was his only defense, eyes flicking back and forth between me and his brother. Dean gave a grunt of acknowledgement and nodded, and Sam relaxed. To his right, the car quieted down to a rumble and then stopped making noise altogether, which did wonders for my nerves. Dean handed back the necklace and I quickly slipped it on. I'd been wearing it for so long that I felt naked without it.

"You know, you could have saved everyone a lot of panic if you'd just told us you had that," Sam remarked drily.

"You know, your brother could have told me he was going to come at me with a knife," I retorted. "Wizards in general don't like to leave blood places if they can help it. Just FYI, in case you start running into wizards on a regular basis."

"Fair enough," Dean interrupted impatiently, when it looked as if Sam might continue the argument. "Now can you please explain what happened to my car?"

"One more thing. I promise it won't take long." Dean shot me a half-exasperated, half-pleading look, and I cut straight to the point. "Wizards have sort of their own way to see if people are who they say they are. Have either of you two ever heard of a soul-gaze?"

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EHEHEHE if you didn't know I was going there than you are clearly not used to my SAMs! (Sadistic Author Moments) I will get the next chapter up ASAP, as soon as I get my semester under control! :D

As per usual, I would sell my soul to know what you think, so please review! Love you much!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** HAHAHA I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS LIKE A MONTH AGO! I honestly feel like I started this whole fic just so I could write this part! This chapter is short, but the last one was like 3800 words so I think you'll be okay. Short does not mean poor quality (I hope), so I've put a lot of effort into doing this right. I think I quoted everything right, but I guess we'll find out huh? Enjoy!

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_"One more thing. I promise it won't take long." Dean shot me a half-exasperated, half-pleading look, and I cut straight to the point. "Wizards have sort of their own way to see if people are who they say they are. Have either of you two ever heard of a soul-gaze?"_

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and all three of them shook their heads. Great. I hadn't really expected it, but just once it would have been nice for things to have been easy. I gave them the quick version: looking a wizard in the eye starts a sort of magical chain reaction, if you soul-gaze someone, it won't ever happen again between you, etc. Then I got to the part about literally seeing each others' souls laid bare, with nothing to hide from one another, and both men paled considerably. Funnily enough, that's always the part that worries people. Dean immediately stopped making anything close to eye contact with me, but I noticed that Sam glanced most nervously at his own brother, rather than me. Interesting. I filed that away under "apparent family secrets to be investigated later."

"You don't want to do that," Dean interjected abruptly. The confidence that had filled his voice before was gone, ad that scared me more than anythign else could have. "If this thing is as vivid as you're telling us, you really don't want to do that." Dean sounded very small suddenly. The car, which I decided to just call Baby and to hell with gender stereotypes, went over and squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly before glancing up at me.

"Dean doesn't have to," he announced defiantly. "I will." I was impressed by Baby's loyalty to his owner, but unfortunately there was a major problem with that plan.

"I'm not sure you can," I answered slowly. "No offense!" I quickly added as all three men glared at me, "but as far as I've seen a soul-gaze is strictly a human experience. Even though you're human -shaped now, you're still in essence a car. But what the hell, we can try it right?"

Baby nodded and stepped forward, chin high and blue eyes determined. I took a breath and matched his gaze, waiting for the slipping sensation that generally accompanies a soul-gaze. To my not surprise at all, nothing happened.

"Did it work?" Baby asked after about twenty seconds. "I think I have to blink. That feels so weird, I never have to blink." I stepped back, shaking my head.

"No, it did not work, and we need to hurry it up." I glanced at the clock, which had miraculously survived the magical energy being flung about the room. "If I know Murph, she's going to give me another two minutes and then come flying down here to make sure I'm not about to destroy Chicago."

"Murph?" Sam asked.

"Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, Chicago PD's finest. Also one of the few people who puts up with me on a regular basis. Look, I need you to do this now." The brothers exchanged another meaningful glance while Baby just sort of rumbled at me in a way that was just this side of threatening. He sounded like a big engine idling, which apparently comforted Dean a little. And people say I'm weird.

Finally they seemed to reach a decision and Dean turned back to face me, squaring his shoulders bravely. The effect was ruined somewhat by how badly his hands were shaking, even though he had them clenched into fists at his sides, but I appreciated the effort. His green eyes were full of a flinty determination that held back the fear. Taking a deep breath I matched his gaze, falling almost instantly into the soul-gaze.

A soul-gaze is different for every person. Sometimes all I get are series of feelings. Other times it's like a video montage of everything important that's ever happened to them, or like I'm standing in a room full of things that make them who they are. Dean's soul was nothing like that.

There was nothing ordered or coherent, about it. I was tossed about in a maelstrom of sickly black and red clouds, pain assaulting me from all sides. Faces and voices flashed through me like knives, each one tearing a new hole in my soul. I like to think that, from all the crap that's happened to me, my mental strength is quite high, but this tore through my walls like they were tissue paper.

_You take care of your brother, Dean!_

_I'll give you… one year._

_Do you really have that low an opinion of yourself boy?_

_How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent Sam?_

_Don't you dare try to bring me back Sammy. Don't you dare._

An enormous black hound with fire and blood trailing from its jaws landed on my chest and tore out my heart with its teeth. A hideous shape loomed behind it, something that warped my mind's eye just from looking at it, with bulging white eyes and a sharp smile.

_I carved you into a new animal Dean. _I didn't think I could be in anymore pain but I was wrong. The thing's smile widened and I discovered a new level of agony. Everything was swirling out of control, and I could feel myself getting lost in the haze.

I realized that someone was calling my name. Or was it Dean's? Piercing white light sliced through the miasma, and in the center of it I saw a pair of blue eyes that could hold the sky and two huge, beautiful wings that were blackened by soot and ash. They swept me away from the fog and the thing with the white eyes, into a blinding radiance that burned almost as much as the fires.

"Dresden, wake up!" Someone was definitely calling my name, and I struggled to pull myself away from the soul-gaze. "Goddamit! HARRY BLACKSTONE DRESDEN, WAKE UP NOW!" Someone hit me across the face hard, and my eyes snapped open. A figure with bright blue eyes and a glowing halo stood above me, flaming sword in hand. I realized that my Sight had somehow come open during the soul-gaze, and forced it closed.

When I looked again, I saw that Murphy was straddling me, (how had I ended up on the floor?) one hand raised to hit me again. When she saw that I was awake she moved, which I thought was awfully considerate of her as I rolled onto my side and vomited into the smelly motel carpet. I puked again, and a third time, body rejecting the images in my head the only way it could. Lifting my hand to wipe my face, which took way too much effort, I discovered that I was crying. Also my runny nose turned out to be a stream of bright red blood. The color sent me over the edge and my stomach revolted again, although there was nothing left in it to throw up.

Murphy knelt beside me, stroking my hair like I was a sick toddler and making soothing noises. Someone was whimpering like an abused puppy, which stopped when I realized it was me. I also heard noise like a car grinding gears (which I later realized was exactly what it was,) and Sam's voice, alternating between asking Dean if he was alright and demanding answers from Murphy, who was ignoring him.

Even though my body kept telling me that lying on the floor in my own blood and vomit was a fantastic plan for the next year or so, I forced myself up onto my elbows. Murphy kept a steadying hand on my back, which I might have complained about if it wasn't about fifty percent of my support at the moment. After a moment my eyes focused on Dean, who was sitting on the ground a few feet away. He had his hands over his eyes and was shaking. It didn't look like he'd thrown up, which was good because I'd done that enough for two people. He seemed less affected, but then, my soul wasn't that horrible to look at. Not like Dean's soul… the thought made me lean over and dry heave a fifth time for good measure.

"Hell's bells," I gasped, leaning on Murphy for support again. She opened her mouth to ask me a question, but I forestalled her with a small shake of my head. "Dean?" I asked softly instead, "are you alright? Look at me." The man let his hands fall to his knees, but his gaze stayed firmly fixed on the floor. Oh, so _now_ he wasn't going to look at me?

"Dean Winchester you ungrateful prick," I growled, "after what you just put me through, the least you can do is _look me in the goddamn eyes!_" I hadn't really meant to start yelling, but Dean's soul had knocked me further off-balance than anything that had happened in a long while. Which, when you deal with vampires, werewolves, and the high Sidhe on a regular basis, is saying something. The anger in my voice startled him into looking at me, and I saw tears glimmering in his eyes.

"Oh god Harry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." I remembered that he had gotten a pretty good look at my soul too, and a little of my anger faded. My soul is not a pretty place to look at. It's why I don't use mirrors. In place of the fury came a heavy exhaustion that threatened to lay me out flat on the spot.

"Murph," I mumbled, eyes slipping closed all by themselves, "Get us to St. Mary of the Angel's. All of us. I'll explain later, just trust me. They're good people." Sam and Dean both blinked at me, surprised. As I dropped down into a deep sleep, I managed to growl one more thing at the monster hunting brothers. "And next time someone asks for a soul-gaze, for the love of god, just say no!"

* * *

THAT TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO YOU OMG I AM SO SORRY. The next chapter will hopefully be up with less of a gap...


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